One Way or Another
by moon71
Summary: Hephaestion misses out on the chance to share Alexander's childhood. Joining the army as they prepare to cross the Hellespont, he reflects on what might have been... Sort of AU... Alexander x Hephaistion
1. Chapter 1

**ONE WAY OR ANOTHER by Moon71 (1 / 3)**

**SUMMARY: **Having missed his chance to share Alexander's childhood, Hephaestion joins the army as it prepares to cross the Hellespont and reflects on what might have been…

**DISCLAIMER: **Well, who owns history, after all?

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **(if anyone cares!) This story is actually one of my oldest. I gave up on it several times, then finally thought up a decent ending and decided to recycle it. Sadly, by that time, I had already stolen bits from it for other stories – this was not only the birthplace of the Narcissus / Nireus / Helenus sub-plot from "Competing for Second Place" but also the first appearance Amyntor ever made in one of my stories. So if it seems "recycled" – that's because it is!

**DEDICATION: **To Norrsken, for being a wonderful writer, a generous reviewer and a lovely new friend! A story with a touch of magic.

They were bored. It was quite obvious they were bored. Even Nearchos, the straightforward, patient, practical Cretan who of Companions had been the most friendly to him when he had arrived, seemed to be having trouble keeping awake; Ptolemy was politely muffling yawn after yawn, Crateros was pulling faces and rolling his eyes and Philotas was continually falling asleep, only to be nudged awake by his scowling father. He couldn't really be angry with any of them; he had spent days and nights putting together this report and now he was boring himself with it.

The heat didn't help; it was a stifling, airless evening and the crowd of bodies in the tent made it so much worse. So did the anticipation, of course; in just a few days the army would be crossing the Hellespont and war with the Persian Empire would begin. These men had all seen combat at Thebes; many had served under King Philip too. It was hardly surprising he was chosen last to give his report, or that these seasoned officers considered listening to it somewhat beneath them. He had worked so hard on the duties assigned to him since his arrival, had been quietly proud of his achievements and was quite excited at the thought of presenting his report to the King, but now all he wanted to do was crawl back into his tent and hide under the camp-bed. He was almost relieved when Crateros broke in, "with respect, Alexander – couldn't he finish this drivel tomorrow? I think I'm about to pass out!"

King Alexander threw his General a freezing look before turning level grey eyes upon the speaker. "Please carry on, Hephaestion."

"Yes, Sire… moving on to the availability of supplies once we cross over to Troy, I have discovered that as far as the purchase of oil, grain and wine is concerned…"

He should never have come. It had all been a huge mistake, he could see that now. He had been living in a fantasy world! He knew it quite clearly whenever he looked across and met Alexander's gaze. The King was polite to him, even gracious, but quite impersonal. How could he ever have imagined there was even the vaguest sympathy, the slightest understanding between them? He should have stayed in Macedon. He should have listened to his mother.

She wouldn't blame him for this disaster; she would blame his father. Even now she might be sitting at home, worrying about Hephaestion and blaming Amyntor for her son's misfortunes, for filling his head full of nonsense about war and glory and phalanxes and cavalry… and princes called Alexander.

"I have to go up to the palace tomorrow, Hephaestion," he could still hear his father saying, "why don't you come with me? Come on, it's better than moping around the house with only your books and your mother for company!" He had glanced over his shoulder to his wife and winked theatrically at his son. "You could play with Prince Alexander! Wouldn't you like that? Come on, he's such a pretty little fellow, and terribly sober and studious… just like you!"

"Alexander…" Hephaestion had murmured thoughtfully, "that's a nice name."

"Of course it is!" his father encouraged him, "and the prince is a very nice little boy – but I do think he's rather lonely up at that big palace…"

"Lonely!" Hephaestion's mother scoffed, bustling around the kitchen, "he's got all those noblemen's children to play with, he doesn't need one more bowing and scraping to him!"

Amyntor frowned but persevered. "I don't think he has much in common with them, he spends too much time with grownups. Every time I go to Court he chatters to me like he hasn't got anyone else to talk to… or perhaps anyone else willing to listen. Do you know, the other week he was telling me all about how he was reading about Cyrus the Great! Cyrus! What do you think of that, Hephaestion?"

"Alexander… Paris of Troy was called Alexander," Hephaestion recalled.

"Yes, and what a wicked young man he turned out to be!" his mother declared with satisfaction.

"Now, Mother, that's enough," Amyntor admonished. Hephaestion never heard his father call her anything but that; it seemed to comfort her, but this time it did not calm her.

"I don't want him going to the palace," she cried, the pitch of her voice rising in panic, "they're barely civilised – their crude language, their drunken orgies, they're little more than tribesmen! And as for that Queen Olympias, the things one hears…"

"Mother, I said that's enough!" Amyntor's voice was low but strict. "Don't forget King Philip was kind enough to welcome us to Macedon when Athens turned its back on us! I'm sorry, my dear, I know you don't like to think of it, but its time we concentrated on the future, not the past." He turned his steady eyes upon his son. "So, Hephaestion?"

Hephaestion looked up at his father. Alexander. It was a very nice name. Did the prince really like reading about Cyrus the Great? Surely he couldn't be any worse than the local boys Hephaestion was supposed to have made friends with, who were rough and stupid and made fun of his books and his Athenian accent. Then, because his conscience would not let him do otherwise, he looked at his mother. She was not a truly artful woman; there was no malice in her. Even then he knew what lay behind her sharp words and short temper. He could see the deep, aching fear in her eyes, though he was not to fully understand it until years later.

He bit his lip, lowering his eyes to the scroll spread before him. "I'd… rather not, Father," he said very softly, "don't forget my new pedagogue is arriving from Athens in three days, I need to finish the reading he sent ahead for me." He kept his gaze fixed on the text to avoid seeing the disappointment on his father's face.

Hephaestion paused to wipe the sweat from his brow and quickly scanned ahead through his report. He had to skip some of it or his listeners would soon be comatose. It was childish to be disappointed that his work was receiving such a cool response, though he had so enjoyed it at the time; the logistical state of the army had been a shambles, and not just that – he had managed to sort out disputes, solve problems, identify errors. What had he imagined? Alexander embracing him publicly and naming him his second in command? Supplies of cornel wood for replacement sarrissas – no-one would miss that, and it would leave out a whole page. He launched ahead to the next subject.

"Hephaestion," Alexander interrupted in that same patient tone, "I believe I asked you about materials for sarrissas. Did you forget to investigate that?"

Hephaestion blinked briefly and cleared his throat. Hiding under his bed was no longer an option. He wondered if anyone would really miss him if he deserted. "N-no, sire, I only thought… as you said, supplies of…"

_It's a divine punishment,_ he decided as he droned on automatically. _That, or else he's finally having his revenge for my stupidity all those years ago…_ Then he cursed himself for his own egotism. As if Alexander would even remember!

"Oh, by the wisdom of Athene, not again! Hephaestion, your father's gone off to his meeting at the palace without his notes! The last time I sent one of the servants they reappeared drunk six hours later – run along and take them to him, will you? And Hephaestion – "Hephaestion's mother froze his sudden frenzy of eager activity with one of those looks she cast so well. "Make sure you come _straight _back. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mother." With slightly reduced enthusiasm, Hephaestion had headed off to the palace, clutching his father's papers. He would have liked to spend time looking around the grounds even if he did not get a chance to look inside, but whenever he considered defying his mother's orders her reproachful gaze, and the fear behind it, chastised him and he quickened his pace. He made his way up the palace steps, explained to the sentry who stopped him why he had come and handed over the papers. The sentry, probably bored with his tedious duties, had been friendly, even kind, and suggested Hephaestion take them to his father himself, but Hephaestion had reluctantly declined. He turned to make his way down the steps.

"Look out – _catch!"_

Quite instinctively Hephaestion thrust out his hands and caught the ball which was flying towards him. Mutely he looked down at the boy who had thrown it.

For a moment Hephaestion was certain this was no ordinary boy but some magical sprite straying in from the woodlands beyond. He was so fair that the faint pink flush suffusing his cheeks and spreading all the way down his neck to his chest seemed more like the painted colouring on a marble statue; his blonde curls seemed carved out of gold. Standing over this pale, fragile figure, Hephaestion, who was dark of features, broad and still childishly chubby, felt like a huge, ungainly thundercloud hovering over the sun.

"Joy to you," the other boy said suddenly, with a slight inclination of the head and a formality startling in someone his age, "I don't believe I've seen you here before."

"No – " Hephaestion finally found his voice, "no – I just came to give something to my father…"

The blonde boy nodded gravely, as if Hephaestion had said something terribly profound. He considered for a moment longer and then asked, "would you like to play with me? It's a new ball," he added, nodding to the toy Hephaestion still held.

Hephaestion looked at it. In fact it was a very handsome ball, made of highly burnished dark red leather with gold stitching. He lifted his gaze from the ball to its owner. The boy was watching him with such large, hopeful grey eyes that Hephaestion was sure he could not refuse. Yet he heard himself say, "I'm sorry… I promised my mother I'd be home straight away."

As Hephaestion watched, those tender eyes grew dark with sadness, and then hardened to flint. "It doesn't matter… I have to go inside now; they'll be waiting for me." And with that he headed up the steps. Hephaestion suddenly wanted to call after him, but a lump was choking his throat. He had almost gathered the strength to follow him when he saw his own father appear in the doorway. The other boy stopped to greet him with respectful familiarity; Amyntor smiled warmly and replied. They spoke too softly for Hephaestion to hear, but when Amyntor nodded in the direction of Hephaestion himself, the other boy shook his head and said a few last words before disappearing inside.

"Hephaestion…!" Amyntor called, a frown creasing his brow.

Hephaestion looked up slowly. What had he done wrong? Was the boy a servant? He was certainly plainly dressed. Was his father angry he had been loitering with him? "Yes, Father?"

Amyntor drew in a deep breath, apparently changing his mind about something. "Thank you for bringing my notes… tell your mother I'll be home for lunch."

"Yes, Father…" Hephaestion sighed, making his way down and out of the grounds. He no longer wanted to explore them; all the fun of visiting the palace had died along with the hope in that small boy's eyes. He felt sick, he even felt a little like crying, and all he wanted was to go home and bury himself in his reading.

It was what he was doing when Amyntor finally returned. He greeted his wife cheerfully enough, but once she was occupied supervising the preparation of his meal he sat down opposite his son and regarded him reproachfully. "So you finally met Prince Alexander," he observed coldly.

Hephaestion's heart skipped. "I don't – that boy, the one with the golden hair – _that_ was the prince?"

Amyntor sighed and shook his head. "Poor little wretch… he sat through that meeting with the King and his counsellors, quiet as a mouse. I suppose he prefers it to being with his tutor – that oaf Leonidas fancies himself a Spartan, what does he know about bringing up children? Tell me, Hephaestion, would it really have been so hard for you to leave your books for a few hours and play with him?"

"Did he say – "

"He didn't say anything. He didn't need to."

"I promised Mother – "

"Your mother would have coped, Hephaestion. She'll have to learn to cope, soon or later. And you're big enough now to stop hiding in her skirts."

Amyntor didn't say anything else; nor did Hephaestion, who stared down at the scroll spread before him but could not read a word for the tears blinding his eyes.

It seemed a fitting punishment that from that day he could not seem to get Prince Alexander out of his head. Whenever his mother was out of earshot he would ask questions of his father about Alexander – what books he was reading, what toys he played with, who his friends were. He secretly longed for Amyntor to suggest his accompanying him to court again, but he never did. Too often, when he was supposed to be concentrating on his lessons, his mind would wander to that fateful meeting on the palace steps, only this time he and Prince Alexander spent a happy afternoon kicking and tossing that splendid ball and when it was time for Hephaestion to go home, the pretty little prince had given him a kiss on the cheek and asked him to come and play again tomorrow. This last section of his fantasy always gave Hephaestion a delicious little shiver down his spine and he could not help imagining it again and again. But then his pedagogue would catch him daydreaming and rap his knuckles with a wooden cane and Hephaestion would see that disappointed expression yet again and feel like a fool.

All the same, Hephaestion made use of what knowledge he gained. He learned the prince loved horses and loved to ride, so he begged for a horse of his own and practised riding him as often as he could; he heard Alexander was very active and had been driven hard by his tutor, so Hephaestion, who had previously scorned the gymnasium because of the other boys there, forced himself to train there regularly. He worked his way through Herodotus, Xenephon and Homer, hoping one day he would be able to discuss his thoughts on these authors with Alexander. Everyone who he asked seemed to think the prince was near enough perfect, or at least fancied himself so; therefore Hephaestion had to be perfect too. When they met again, nothing should go wrong.

By the time the philosopher Aristotle had been invited to Macedon to tutor Alexander, Hephaestion had just about managed to put such silly thoughts out of his head. Amyntor, on the other hand, who had been lukewarm about the matter since the day he had gently reprimanded his son, now seemed to gain a new enthusiasm for the subject.

"Now, Mother, you have to admit this is a brilliant opportunity for Hephaestion – Aristotle is well respected, just think what he'll learn from such a man!"

"Amyntor, you should be ashamed of yourself!" Hephaestion's mother scolded, "pretending it's our son's education you're interested in! You just want to have your son in with all the other sons of Philip's courtiers!"

"And why shouldn't I, after all? Antipater's sons will be going to Mieza, so will General Parmenion's and… anyway, you can't keep Hephaestion away from Court forever, at least this way he won't be in the thick of it, he'll be with other boys, getting an excellent education! At least consider _my_ position for once, Mother… Philip himself has asked me about Hephaestion, even young Alexander asked me if he'll be coming…"

Hephaestion, listening silently by the door, caught his breath. The prince had _really_ asked about him?

"I don't want him to go, Amyntor," his mother was saying stiffly, "he's not like other boys, he's sensitive and shy and he'll be bullied by those rough Macedonian boys and the prince will only look down his nose at him – no-one in Macedon likes Athenians, thanks to that awful Demosthenes!"

"Mother, it's thanks to the likes of Demosthenes that we're in Macedon now! King Philip knows it, so do his Courtiers and so do their sons! And as to him being bullied – look at him! He's already as tall as you and he's got more wit than all those other men's sons put together!"

"I don't want him to _go,_ Amyntor," his mother repeated, but this time her voice was unsteady, "I don't want him to leave!" Suddenly, quietly, she began to weep.

"Helena, my love…" he heard his father sigh. It startled Hephaestion to hear him use her given name, but as he retreated into his room it was with the gloomy certainty that he would not be joining Prince Alexander and his friends at Mieza.

A deep sigh escaped Hephaestion as he progressed to the next paragraph of his report. He didn't really need to read his notes, he had memorised most of it, but if he stared at them he wouldn't be tempted to stare at Alexander, or to stare at his officers, some of whom he could identify as the sons of men his father Amyntor had consorted with back in Pella, sons who had been allowed to go to Mieza, who had shared Alexander's childhood, who were Alexander's friends. What sort of an idiot was he, wallowing in childish jealousy because they were so close to the beautiful young king and he wasn't? Letting himself be plagued by guilt because so many of the men his father mixed with had been able to present their handsome sons before Philip when Amyntor couldn't, and not because he didn't have a son, handsome or otherwise, but because his wife wouldn't let him?

Why had he come out here? Why had he agreed to join the army at such a late stage? What good would it do him or anyone else? Just because of a moment when he had refused to play with a little boy with lonely grey eyes; just because of a glance from a handsome young man on a fine black horse? Suddenly his whole report seemed absurd, quite meaningless. He had already heard himself referred to several times as the "logistics bore" as he pestered people with his questions and ideas; Actaeon, the Page assigned to him, seemed to think the post beneath himself; even the engineers, who handled the building and maintenance of bridges, siege machinery and fortifications, the men he had most wanted to meet, regarded him with a dull suspicion as if he was a spy on the lookout for cost-cutting and shoddy workmanship. He was on the verge of tearing up his notes and announcing his intention to return home even if it meant disgrace, dishonour and possible crucifixion, when he accidentally caught Alexander's eye once more, and thought he saw the ghost of a smile. For a second he thought the King was laughing at him. Then he remembered the young man on his black horse.

He did not know quite why he had gone out to watch King Philip leading the army out against Thebes; it had been several years since Amyntor had reported that Philip had asked him if his son was to join the Royal Pages and Hephaestion's father had had to endure the humiliation of admitting that he wasn't. His mother had grown quite hysterical at the thought, claiming Hephaestion would seduced and bursting into tears when Amyntor had retorted that a chance would be a fine thing. "Becoming some officer's _eromenos_ is probably the best thing that could happen to the boy," Amyntor had persisted, "as it is, he's well on the way to turning out a lonely, maladjusted little prig!"

"I suppose you'd like him to attract the attention of King Philip himself!" Hephaestion's mother had shrieked, "I've heard all about his taste for boys! What does it matter if our son is treated like a – like a – like some camp-follower so long as _you_ improve your position at Court!"

"By Athene's sacred _arse, _woman – "

"_AMYNTOR!"_

"Well, I've had enough of it! Face up to it, Helena – we're never going back to Athens, never! This is your home now and after all these years you'd better get used to it!"

So ended the subject of the Royal Pages. By all rights Hephaestion should have been too ashamed to show his face amongst the crowds while the army rode out, but something lured him there. And though he didn't want to admit it, he rather suspected it was a need to glimpse Prince Alexander one more time, just in case – all the Gods forbid it! – he never returned from the campaign.

He had felt his chest constrict as he saw Alexander riding not far behind his father, smiling at the cheering crowds and talking to Ptolemy, the one gossip suggested might be his half-brother. Alexander looked so dashing in his armour, so at home on the back of his horse Bucephalus. The fragile, pretty boy with the wistful gaze had grown into a very personable young man, not nearly as tall as Hephaestion himself who had shed his puppy fat to shoot up like a vine, but well proportioned, smoothly muscular and graceful, his features strengthening to a more masculine beauty without losing the sensitivity that made them so compelling. As Hephaestion watched him, he wished him well at the same time as he prepared to let go of all his childhood fancies. From today he would not allow himself to think anymore of Alexander. He would focus on making a life for himself in Macedon, a life that kept him away from Court. He had had his one chance that day on the steps of the palace, handed to him by the fates, and he had thrown it away. He could not blame either of his parents for that. _Health to you, beautiful prince,_ he thought sadly_, I'm sorry we never played with that nice ball…_

And then, as if his thoughts could be heard, Alexander had turned and looked directly at him. For what seemed hours, the two youths gazed into one another's eyes. There was the trace of a smile on Alexander's full lips, as if he was telling Hephaestion that all was forgiven. Then, almost imperceptibly, the prince raised his hand, as if in invitation.

Hephaestion hesitated, doubting his own senses. Just as he summoned the courage to take a step forward, Ptolemy touched Alexander's arm, pointing to someone in the crowd on the opposite side. Alexander had turned away and, feeling an utter fool, Hephaestion had dived back into the mass of bodies and pushed through in the direction of his home.

Fresh perspiration broke out over Hephaestion's brow as he looked away from the king once more and recalled the dreams which had visited him for nights after he had watched the prince ride off to battle. In his dreams, he had pushed through the crowd, grasped Alexander's hand and clambered onto the back of Bucephalus, slipping his arms around the unprotesting Alexander's waist as they rode off together to glory.

Idle fantasy, nothing more. He really had tried to make a life for himself in Macedon; he had even considered marrying. But his heart was not in either project. Then Philip had been assassinated.

It had been an unhappy time for Amyntor's family; even his wife had had to admit that Philip had been kind to them and without him their future was uncertain. But, Hephaestion realised as he stood by and impotently watched his father weeping, for Amyntor it was far more than that. Perhaps he had held ambitions for his son, but he had also loved King Philip as a friend – and his affections did not stop at Philip. "That poor boy," Amyntor had lamented, "they're already saying he had a hand in it! Maybe _she_ did, the gods alone know, but not Alexander…"

Hephaestion's mother had tensed, biting her lip; he could tell she was not nearly so convinced of the prince's virtue but at least this time she kept silent, merely placing her hands upon her husband's shoulders and rubbing them gently. After a moment Amyntor reached up, clasping one of her hands in his and offering his other one to Hephaestion, who took it silently. "We'll weather this, Mother, just as we always have. That poor boy will either kill or be killed… one way or another, he'll never be the same…"

It was then that Hephaestion realised something that brought tears to his own eyes, tears of frustration, guilt and grief. Amyntor genuinely loved Alexander too and perhaps after all it had been as much pity for the boy he always described as lonely, as ambition for himself that had motivated him to try to bring Alexander and Hephaestion together.

_Kill or be killed…_

"I'll go to him, pledge myself to him!" Hephaestion had cried, "I know he doesn't know me but surely – "

"_NO!"_ his mother shrieked.

Growing hot with anger, Hephaestion turned on her for the first time in his life. "Mother, you know I love and respect you, but I have to do this or I'll never live with myself! I know I don't really know Alexander but I – I can't explain it, but I _care_ for him, and I – "

"Your mother's right, Hephaestion," Amyntor interrupted, startling both his wife and his son, holding up a hand to forestall Hephaestion's protests. "Now is not the time. This is Macedon. The succession could degenerate into a bloodbath. Alexander isn't the only one with a claim to the throne and he doesn't need you to get yourself killed along with him – or to do some of the killing _for_ him. His friends will be back from exile within days, let them take care of it."

Feeling rather foolish, Hephaestion had subsided. But he had seen the glow of love and pride in his father's eyes and knew his words would not be forgotten.

Alexander had successfully taken the throne and the much talked of Persian campaign had become closer and closer to reality. It wasn't until after the destruction of Thebes that Amyntor had told him, quite deliberately in his mother's hearing, that someone was needed to handle logistical matters for the army before it crossed the Hellespont and he had put Hephaestion's name forward. Before Hephaestion's mother could begin her objections, Amyntor sat her down and put a finger against her lips. "Listen to me, Mother. Listen to me, and look at _him._ He's twenty-two years old. His legs are so long he could step over any city's defensive walls, his shoulders are broad enough for two cuirasses, he's strong, he's clever and he's very handsome and you can't keep him prisoner here forever!"

At these words, his mother had begun to cry, but not violently, only softly and sadly as she buried her face in Amyntor's breast. "I know…" she had whispered, "I know…"

And so with a mixture of excitement and dread, Hephaestion son of Amyntor had finally taken his position as one of Alexander's Companions, though he hardly felt the honorary title was well deserved.

Hephaestion glanced sharply up from his papers, thinking he was hearing things. But the growing amusement of the others confirmed his suspicions – Philotas was now so deeply asleep he had begun to snore and Parmenion, rather than shaking him awake, was dozing quietly against his son's shoulder.

"My friends," Alexander spoke up clearly and firmly, "it has been a long night, you are dismissed."

Amidst gasps of relief and groans as men stretched cramped muscles and shook out garments soaked in sweat, the meeting broke up. Hephaestion quickly gathered up his papers, too thoroughly miserable to worry that Alexander had not even bothered to acknowledge that his report was not finished, let alone apologise for cutting it short. He was almost at the exit to the tent when his name was called.

"Hephaestion, where are you going?"

Hephaestion turned back in surprise. Alexander was still sitting where he had been, regarding Hephaestion with innocent surprise.

"Sire?"

"You may call me Alexander, you know… but where are you going? You haven't completed your report!"

"I – I thought…"

"I'll hear the rest of it tonight. But first take some wine with me; this accursed heat leaves a man parched as a desert, doubly so, I would have thought, if one's been speaking for a long time… Narcissus," he addressed the young page waiting in attendance in the corner, "wine and two cups… bring a fresh pitcher of water, too."

Hephaestion found himself watching the boy as he moved gracefully about his tasks. How old could he be? Fifteen? Perhaps the very age Hephaestion had been when he had been invited to Mieza to study with Alexander. Some of the boys who had shared his studies had been in this tent tonight now honoured Companions to the young king. Had one of them been Alexander's beloved back in Macedon, walked hand in hand with him in the gardens of Midas, shared his bed on cold nights? Had things been different, perhaps, just perhaps, Hephaestion himself might have been the one who… but no, he was being a fool! Oh, why not admit it – he had been infatuated with Alexander since the day he had met him on the steps of the palace in Pella. But that did not mean his feelings were returned! So many men and women loved the golden boy of Macedon; Alexander would have his pick from hundreds. Hephaestion blinked as Narcissus appeared at his elbow, giving him a radiant smile as he offered him wine and gracefully wiggling his behind as he moved back to serve Alexander.

"Are you hungry, Hephaestion?" the king asked, his eyes fixed impenetrably upon the page. Hephaestion called himself a fool for the stab of jealousy that persisted; why shouldn't Alexander be interested in a beautiful youth like that? "Bring a basket of fruit, Narcissus… Please carry on, Hephaestion…"

A little dazed, Hephaestion sipped his wine and looked at his notes once more.

"Would you like me to cut up an apple or two for you, sir?" Narcissus offered, leaning so close Hephaestion could feel his soft breath against his cheek, "they're very ripe and sweet…"

"Ah…no, thank you…" murmured Hephaestion, "now, as to the logistics for a possibly prolonged siege campaign…"

"Some more water in your wine, sir? Strong wine in this… _hot…_ weather, can be very… _intoxicating…"_

Hephaestion glanced nervously towards Alexander, but the king was gazing thoughtfully into his wine cup and didn't even seem to be listening.

Narcissus glanced at him too, then whispered, "I do hope Actaeon is looking after you properly, sir… if he isn't, do come and tell me, I'd be… only too glad to help… in any way I can…"

Hephaestion looked up slowly and bemusedly into the boy's large green eyes. And suddenly it was not so easy to look away again. It was as if all the long, lonely, frustrating years were collected in those eyes and reflected back at him. What had been the use of any of it? Who had he been keeping himself for – Alexander? Why shouldn't he take a lover, a boy just like this one? As if the king cared what he did or who he did it with! As he gazed at Narcissus he saw both sympathy and encouragement there, as if the Page could read his very thoughts and was accepting an offer he had not yet made. He had caught the boy smiling at him before…

As if awakening at last from a dream he had been locked up within since the day he had joined the army, Hephaestion finally began to see things clearly. Camp gossip about Narcissus' accommodating attitude to any one of Companion's rank… and not just him. Other boys and men had been looking at Hephaestion with curiosity, maybe with real interest, despite the smirks and the teasing. Perhaps, just perhaps, a night in the arms of Narcissus would rid him for his useless dreams of Alexander at last.

He allowed a small, experimental smile to tug at his lips…

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**One Way or Another by Moon 71 ( 2 / 3 )**

**SUMMARY: **Oh, well anything I said now would ruin the fun, so I'll keep my trap shut.

**RATING:** Naughty bits available here!

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **All right, I wasn't going to post the next part for a week, butI have been so overwhelmed by the quick and generous response this story has received, especially as it was once on its way to the recycle bin, that I decided to stop trying to be clever and just get on with it. Here is the second part…

* * *

"_Thank_ you, Narcissus, you can leave us now," Alexander's voice startled them both. "I believe you're on guard duty tonight… close the tent flap behind you…"

Before Hephaestion looked away in confusion he caught a glimpse of anger on the boy's fine face, but Alexander certainly missed it, looking up only when Narcissus had begun making his way out. "Narcissus by name, Narcissus by nature…" the king muttered with a scowl, then he met Hephaestion's bewildered gaze and unexpectedly offered him a smile that outshone the Narcissus' as the sun outshone the moon. "Come, carry on; you were talking about siege preparations…"

Hephaestion haltingly resumed his report, though he found it increasingly hard to concentrate as he became ever more conscious of Alexander's gaze fixed unblinkingly upon him. Every time Hephaestion ventured to glance up, Alexander's eyes were waiting for him. Once Hephaestion offered a nervous smile, but after that one brilliant flash of good humour, Alexander had become quite as solemn as before. Finally Alexander rose from his seat and moved towards him. He tried to rise too in deference to his king but Alexander's small hand gripped his shoulder with surprising strength and pushed him gently back down. As Hephaestion stumbled on, Alexander's hand remained where it was as he came to stand so close behind Hephaestion's chair that he could feel the heat of the other man's body and smell his scent, astonishingly sweet and pleasant despite the sticky atmosphere.

"Your physique is really quite superb…" Alexander murmured abstractedly, running gentle fingers down Hephaestion's bicep.

"Th-thank you, Sire," Hephaestion choked. Alexander's touch was making his skin tingle.

"Alexander. I'm glad to see you make good use of the gymnasium as well as the library… when I heard you were coming, I was afraid to find you'd become pale and skinny… an active mind needs an active body to give balance and support, don't you think?"

Hephaestion dared not move, yet he longed to turn and look into Alexander's face. "Yes – Alexander," he mumbled. He heard the young king sigh, almost felt his breath upon his neck.

"But do forgive me, you must be tired. Go on, I won't interrupt anymore…"

"As – as you say, A-Alexander…concerning our preliminary surveys of…" Hephaestion's breath caught as Alexander's hands gripped his shoulders and began to rub. "The - the surrounding areas with a view to supply routes and possible locations for fortifications…"

Somehow or other he managed to carry on automatically, while Alexander's supple fingers probed all the way from his lower back to his shoulder blades and up to his neck, then began to feather down over his chest. A hot shiver spread over Hephaestion's body and for a dreamy moment all he wanted was to sink back into Alexander's arms, but then the absurdity of the situation struck him and he mastered himself. Perhaps this was a joke, one of those humiliating initiation rituals he'd heard stories of. He was supposed to lose his head, make a pass at his king and spend the next few months as the butt of endless bawdy soldiers' jokes. He had expected more from Alexander.

One thing was certain; Alexander couldn't be listening to his report. He felt like tearing up his notes and throwing them in his face. "To compensate for future losses," he deliberately droned on, "in reserve, we have potentially two-thousand horses, nine – "

"Two _thousand?"_ Alexander cut in immediately with a soft chuckle, "are you sure you don't mean two _hundred,_ Hephaestion?"

"Oh – yes, two hundred," Hephaestion agreed, pretending to look at his notes and trying not to notice Alexander's hands sliding admiringly down his arms. Whatever game was being played, he would not rise to it. He would not…

But no matter how hard he fought, passion overcame distrust and he felt his body awaken. Barely able to move, he lowered his eyes to the paper before him, stared at it for a long moment, then with a soft moan, let it fall to the floor.

"Go on…" Alexander breathed.

"I can't…" Hephaestion rasped, "… it's finished… there's no more…"

"Oh…" Alexander actually rubbed his nose against Hephaestion's cheek as he bent closer to whisper in his ear, "Thank you, Hephaestion, that was… a very thorough and well constructed report… you've obviously worked very hard… let me pour you some more wine…"

"No…" Hephaestion shook his head fuzzily, "no more wine…" When Alexander's arms slid about his shoulders he could take no more. He struggled to his feet, stumbling as if intoxicated. "I must…must go…"

"Still not ready to surrender to me, Hephaestion?"

Hephaestion turned, stunned, looking into the king's face for the first time. It was still smooth, almost devoid of expression, but there was the same blush on his white skin that had been there when as a boy he had asked Hephaestion to play with him, and his grey eyes were very bright, almost feverish. A faint, impish smile played on his lips.

Sudden, anger rose within Hephaestion. To be ignored by Alexander was one thing. To be mocked was another. To suspect that the golden idol he had worshipped, chastely, faithfully, quietly, without jealousy or demand, might not be gold at all, but merely painted stone, was too much to stand. _"What do you want from me, Alexander?"_ he cried bitterly.

Alexander smiled more openly now, but within the princely assurance there was just a faint echo of that ruefulness he had shown when Hephaestion first refused his overtures of friendship. "Everything you owe me, Hephaestion."

Hephaestion stared at him, breathing hard. Unable to stop himself, he touched Alexander's cheek, ran his fingers through his silky hair. Alexander closed his eyes, giving himself up luxuriously to Hephaestion's caresses, tilting up his head as if inviting a kiss.

"Alexander –?" Hephaestion began to protest at last, but Alexander's arms slipped up around his neck and before he knew it, Alexander's lips were upon his. For a moment consternation gripped Amyntor's son; then, barely knowing what possessed him, he caught Alexander up in his arms and crushed him close, gasping as Alexander's warm, eager tongue slipped unhesitatingly into his mouth. If this was madness then madness was ecstasy. Abandoning himself to it, Hephaestion let his hands travel all over Alexander's body, from his firm chest and muscular back to his strong, shapely thighs. The sense of release, of liberation made him dizzy; in those moments all he could think was _at last, at last, the waiting is finally over…_

His head was spinning when they finally paused for breath; with an intake of oxygen came a return to reality. This simply could not happen. "Alexander, please…" he begged.

"Shh…" Alexander took his mouth once again. The kiss was agonisingly sweet; to pull away was torture, yet he managed it.

"I – I don't understand… any of this…"

"Don't you…?" Alexander panted softly, brushing his lips over Hephaestion's face before he pushed him gently back into his chair and slid into his lap. "If you don't understand yet, why are you here…?"

"_I had to come…!"_ Hephaestion cried softly.

Alexander only smiled at him with sympathy. "Of course you did… but why did you keep me waiting for so long?" he asked, stroking his mouth across Hephaestion's cheek.

Hephaestion shook his head. "I… I thought I'd imagined…"

A deep sigh broke from Alexander as he pulled back to look the other in the eye. "You weren't sure… maybe I wasn't either… or maybe I just lacked courage…"

"Alexander… Alexander I _love you…"_

"I know," Alexander replied, and he smiled again.

"But… but how… how could you know…? _How could…"_

"Hush now, my friend." Hephaestion's protests were silenced by Alexander's finger against his lips. "No more questions, no more words." He rose resolutely, taking Hephaestion's hand and drawing him up. "Come to my bed, Hephaestion. Don't keep me waiting any longer…"

* * *

Hephaestion meekly followed Alexander into the inner confines of his tent, but stopped as he glanced uncertainly from Alexander to his simple camp-bed and back again. Alexander nodded and smiled. Silently he moved into Hephaestion's arms and they embraced both deeply and tenderly, as though they were old friends separated for many long and lonely years. Hephaestion felt he could have stayed that way for the whole night, could hardly bring himself to lift his face from the sweet scented warmth of Alexander's shoulder even when he felt his belt unfastened and his chiton pulled away. But Alexander gently pulled free and guided Hephaestion down onto the bed. "Lie down," Alexander whispered. Hephaestion did as he was told, instinctively reaching to put out the lamp, but Alexander stopped him. "No, Hephaestion," he panted softly, crouching down beside him, "let my eyes feast upon you first…"

For a moment that was all he did, his bright gaze wandering covetously over Hephaestion's naked body before his hands began to caress him. Then suddenly he rose, smiling, and discarded his own clothes as if they had suddenly become a nuisance. Hephaestion had never had the privilege of seeing Alexander naked, not even in the gymnasium, and he gazed in wonder at his smooth, compact body, his well developed muscles, at last at his finely formed manhood. Such perfection. It was intimidating. Alexander leaned close to kiss him before lying down beside him. "Don't you want to touch me, Hephaestion?"

A low moan broke from deep inside Hephaestion as Alexander took his hand and placed it upon his own erection. "Alexander…" he murmured as the young king began to brush kisses over his chest, "I… fear I will disappoint you as a lover, I… I… have…" he winced but managed to finish, "I have no experience…"

Alexander's eyes shimmered like moonlight. "Have you saved yourself for me, my Hephaestion…?" There was no mockery in his tone; only a strange sort of triumph.

Hephaestion blushed. "I don't know. I've never known…"

"There's never been another boy or man for me," Alexander told him soothingly, "after passion first awoke in me it was you I wanted, and no-one else would do…"

"But how… after just one meeting… Alexander, I…"

"Hephaestion…" Alexander's laughter vibrated against him, sending shivers through his body, "you are the only man I've found who talks more than I do… but I know how to keep you quiet…"

He clambered onto Hephaestion's body, his lips and hands searching and claiming, and within moments Hephaestion was overcome.

* * *

It was not as he would have wanted it to be, had dreamed it might be; but he could not stop himself, or slow the pace of Alexander's seemingly insatiable need. They were rough and impatient, far too impatient to concern themselves with who should do what, merely rubbing violently against one another like fumbling adolescent boys until release came, their kisses hungry, their caresses harsh and bruising. And yet Hephaestion was aware of every minute, every second of it – of the sparkling of Alexander's eyes, the pink flush on his glistening skin, his wild, triumphant laughter. It seemed as though every time Hephaestion surfaced for air, perhaps also for reason, Alexander pulled him back down into the depths of passion.

And all too soon it was over. The physical relief was wonderful, but Hephaestion still felt a deep, unsatisfied hunger, a need to possess, to claim, to share. It seemed as though Alexander felt the same despair as Hephaestion, for he clung tightly to him and kissed him again and again and whispered to him, "you're here now… you're here… you're mine… you're mine at last…"

* * *

"Did you really mean what you said…?" Hephaestion asked, his voice hushed in the dimness of the tent's inner space, his hand trembling very slightly as he stroked Alexander's thigh. "About waiting for me…?"

Alexander gave a deep, luxurious sigh, rubbing himself sensually against Hephaestion's larger body like a snake seeking the warmth of a sun baked wall, his fingers tracing the muscular contours of Hephaestion's belly, perfectly relaxed. It might have been the most natural thing in the world for the young monarch to be lying naked in bed with his head resting against his logistics officer's breast. "I've been waiting since your father said he had a little boy just like me and that he'd see if you'd agree to come and play with me… he used to tease me and say he couldn't order you because you were from democratic Athens! And that day we met…"

Hephaestion closed his eyes, embarrassed to feel the sting of tears. "Gods, I've waited so long to say this… Alexander, I'm so sorry I hurt you that day… you have to understand…"

"That day, I knew I wanted you to be my friend," Alexander continued softly, "later on, I knew I wanted you to be more than my friend. I felt as though you were _supposed_ to be mine, and you would be, sooner or later… Now I know it. You were always supposed to be mine." His eyes glittered at Hephaestion as the other young man leaned up to look into his face. "Some things are known only to the gods; some things the gods choose to whisper to us… don't look so frightened, my love… if I'm wrong, why are you here, now? In my bed? If you were just an opportunist, you would have come to me in Pella, or Mieza. If your father was one, he would certainly have forced you there whether you wanted to come or not… but why didn't you come much sooner…?"

"My mother wouldn't let me," Hephaestion admitted softly, feeling his face heat in embarrassment. He readied himself to defend her against Alexander's mockery, but the king just laughed sympathetically.

"You don't need to tell me what its like to have a mother who loves you too much," Alexander told him. "You must have heard a thing or two about mine…"

"I heard your mother had her reasons," Hephaestion replied a little stiffly"and so did mine. I didn't find out until just before I left what the real reason was. When my parents were accused of treason and driven from Athens… my mother was devastated. She was also heavily pregnant. She gave birth during the journey to Macedon… the baby was born dead. Perhaps it was the will of the gods… or perhaps it was only the cruelty of Athens…"

"I'm so sorry, Hephaestion."

"I was only a child myself. All I knew is that she was so sad, and so frightened… yet I'm still sorry, Alexander… sorry for all the time you and I might have had…"

"We still have plenty of time," Alexander soothed, "though I was nearly ready to give up on you… when you arrived here, I was in half a mind to ignore you… or send you back home… I mean, it's hardly fitting for a king to court one of his officers… though I doubt it would have stopped my father…"

"Then… then why…"

"A little competition, perhaps… I saw the way Narcissus had begun looking at you, and not just him. You're very beautiful, Hephaestion. Don't you know that…?"

"I – I – " Hephaestion looked away. How long he had yearned to hear Alexander speak such words to him, yet now the words, the loving caresses, only seemed to fill him with a terrible sadness, a weakening, useless frustration. Sensing the change in his mood, Alexander leaned closer.

"What is it, beloved?"

Hephaestion gave a soft moan. How easily and how confidently Alexander said it! All this love, all this beauty had been waiting for him if he had only had the courage to reach out and take it – if he had stopped hiding behind his books and his studies and his mother's needs and taken a risk, just a small one, and agreed to play with a golden haired boy with a new ball… how many adventures and experiences they would have shared, how much love and support they could have given each other… and now Hephaestion would belong to this army and it would welcome him warmly instead of keeping him lingering on the peripheries…

"Forgive me my ingratitude," he whispered, "you have already given me so much more than any man deserves… but it wasn't supposed to be like this… in all my dreams, in my buried hopes… I wanted us to be so much more than lovers. I wanted us to be… friends…"

"Can't we be?" Alexander's voice was soft and wistful.

"It's not the same, Alexander…" Hephaestion turned his head away so that he could not see the look on his lover's face. "It's too late for us now. It's all my fault and I'm so very sorry, but you know it's too late… in a few days we'll cross the Hellespont and the war will begin. It could last for months… maybe even years. We both have work to do, duties to attend to. You must marry. My own work might mean us separating for weeks, maybe months at a time. If it had been different… if we had a bond, a friendship already many years old before we came to this point everything would have been different… but look at us, my… my love…" It felt so sweet to say it, but he forced himself onwards, "we came together just now as boys, not men… and we hardly know each other. This…" he reached clumsily for the hand Alexander still rested upon his belly, squeezing it tightly, "this is all we have left, and it's not enough…" he forced himself to turn back to Alexander. "You know it's not enough…."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**ONE WAY OR ANOTHER by Moon71 ( 3 / 3)**

**Summary: **Alexander and Hephaestion have finally come together… but will one night be enough to bind them together forever?

**Author's note:** The ending to this might be insane, but that's the way it turned out. Once again grateful thanks are owed to Norrsken for bringing a touch of mystery and magic to Alexander and thus inspiring to finally give this story a better ending (I think!) than it had before!

* * *

Alexander looked silently down into Hephaestion's eyes for a long time. Hephaestion could almost feel the conflict raging within his mind; no doubt everything that made Alexander a King was demanding that he should not be denied what he wanted, whatever anyone said, even Hephaestion himself. But then the lines of tension on his brow melted away and his expression softened to a sad smile. "You're right, of course. I thought… perhaps… even now I could claim you… for you do belong to me, Hephaestion… that is something decided by the gods, not by us, and you must be mine… but you're right, of course… it won't work this way…"

"Oh, Alexander…" Hephaestion swallowed hard, mastering himself. "Perhaps I should go…"

"Shhh…" Alexander silenced Hephaestion with a warm, lingering kiss. "Stay. Stay for the night. What happens beyond tonight no longer matters… the gods are with me, Hephaestion, and they will make things right… we'll just have to start all over again…"

Hephaestion gazed blankly at him. Then, for the first time in what seemed years, he laughed out loud. "Alexander, you are the most remarkable person I have ever met. But even you can't conquer the god of time! You cannot change what has already passed…"

Alexander grinned, his even white teeth shining through the shadows. "I'm Alexander," he said complacently, brushing small kisses over Hephaestion's face, "born of the line of Heracles and of Achilles, descended from the gods. I can do anything."

Hephaestion's laughter faded. An odd shiver passed down his spine. Alexander's certainty was frightening. "I don't understand…"

"You don't have to," Alexander chuckled. "You just have to kiss me…"

That much Hephaestion could do. He moaned softly as Alexander began to touch him with eager, mischievous fingers, seeking out his sensitivities, in no hurry this time. As he closed his eyes once more and lost himself in the moist warmth of Alexander's mouth, it seemed to him he was lying directly in the hot rays of the sun. He could feel the heat of it burning his skin, could see its red glow penetrating beyond his shielded eyes, brighter than a hundred fires…

* * *

"Look out – _catch!"_

Hephaestion spun around, blinking hard, blinded by the sunlight. He had almost lost his footing on the steps as a sudden dizziness had seized him. Quite instinctively he thrust out his hands and caught the ball which was flying towards him, gazing stupidly at the boy who had thrown it.

"Joy to you," the other boy said adult formality, slightly inclining his head, "I don't believe I've seen you here before."

"No…" Hephaestion recovered himself, uncertain what had just happened to him. Had he been daydreaming again? His pedagogue was always scolding him for it. For a moment it had seemed he had been somewhere else, another place entirely, lying in the shadows of the night, and this boy… "No – I just came to give something to my father…"

The blonde boy nodded gravely, as if considering, then asked, "would you like to play with me? It's a new ball," he added, nodding to the toy Hephaestion still held.

Hephaestion looked at it. In fact it was a very cheerful looking ball, one which almost seemed to beg to be played with, to whisper promises of good fun and friendship. He lifted his gaze from the ball to its owner. There seemed to be the same plea, and the same promise, in those solemn grey eyes and it suddenly seemed he could not deny either one of them. But this was something new and unexpected – unexplored territory. An offer of friendship unsought, but for once not unwelcome. This boy wasn't like the others. He seemed to call Hephaestion away from his books, to draw him out into the open. Hephaestion wanted to follow, yet panic seized him. "I'm sorry…" he blurted out, "I promised my mother I'd be home straight away."

The disappointment on the boy's face made Hephaestion's heart ache strangely. He wanted to take back his stupid words, but then the other boy's gaze hardened. "It doesn't matter… I have to go inside now; they'll be waiting for me." He moved past Hephaestion up the steps, his slender arm brushing very lightly against Hephaestion's chunky one and sending shivers across his body. Hephaestion gaped after him, struggling to find the words to call him back.

Suddenly the boy stopped, squared his shoulders and turned back purposefully, as if having made a very difficult decision. For a moment he regarded Hephaestion with a solemnity well beyond his years; his face would have been quite unreadable except for his eyes, which had softened once more. "Do you really have to go?" he asked quietly, "only I don't have anyone else to play with, and I thought… I thought you looked nice."

Hephaestion could not help the shy smile that tugged at his lips. His mother might be worried, but maybe, just for a few moments, until his father arrived… "I suppose I can stay…just for a while…"

The other boy rewarded him with a radiant grin. "Come on then…!"

"My name's Hephaestion, what's yours?" Hephaestion asked breathlessly as they jogged down the steps.

"_Hephaestion…?"_ An odd look passed over the blonde child's face as he repeated the name.

Hephaestion sighed. "Yes, I know, it's a weird name. I was born in Athens."

The boy seemed to awaken from a dream. "I – no, it's not that, it's… anyway, I think Hephaestion is a nice name! I'm called Alexander."

"Like the prince?" Hephaestion blurted out before he could stop himself.

"Yes," the boy called Alexander said with an enigmatic smile, "just like the prince…"

Hephaestion shrugged it off. Half the boys in Macedon were called Alexander – the ones who weren't called Nikanor! It wasn't that much of a coincidence. He tossed the red ball high into the air and raced against his new friend to catch it before it hit the ground.

* * *

Amyntor stepped out into the early afternoon heat and squinted across the sunlit courtyard. He had nearly gone in search of Hephaestion when the sentry had brought him in the papers he had forgotten and told him it was his son who had brought them, but then General Antipater had asked him a question and he had completely forgotten about it. No doubt Hephaestion was already back at home, pawing over his books, quiet and alone. It was too much to expect him to have lingered to look around the palace grounds or to have settled somewhere to walk home with his father. Amyntor couldn't fault the boy his sense of duty to his mother.

He made his way down the steps with a small sigh. He always made a point of returning to take his midday meal with Helena; afterwards they would sleep in the cool interior of the house until the hottest part of the afternoon was over and he would return to his duties until evening, or later if Philip requested he stay to take his supper at the palace. Poor Helena – how could he be angry at her? Some nights she would still wake in tears, swearing she had heard the lost baby crying, though she had never heard its cry. But if only Hephaestion would…

Amyntor stopped and blinked, hardly able to believe his eyes. But he was not imagining things – it _was_ his Hephaestion, laughing as he tackled Prince Alexander for the ball the other boy had just caught. It was a mesmerising sight – those two unnaturally serious, studious children with their faces flushed and their eyes bright, dishevelled and covered in dust.

"Father!" Hephaestion froze as he saw Amyntor, his carefree grin evaporating. "Oh no, I forgot, Mother will be… Alexander, this is my father," Hephaestion added quickly.

"Joy to you, father of Hephaestion," Alexander said with an impish little smile, as if inviting Amyntor to join in a small joke at Hephaestion's expense. Amyntor grinned back and nodded very slightly.

"And to you, young Alexander…"

"I have to go home now, Alexander," Hephaestion said, frantically brushing the dirt off his chiton, "I promised my mother I'd be straight home and that was ages ago, she'll be…"

"Don't worry about your mother, Hephaestion," Amyntor said firmly, "she'll understand. Stay and play with your new friend. I'll be back in a while; you can ride home with me at sunset." To Amyntor's surprise, his son did not argue but only coloured and lowered his eyes. "Just make sure you get yourselves indoors; it's far too hot for you to be playing out here and Mother will be furious if you come home with sunstroke!"

"Come on Hephaestion," Alexander called, "I'll show you around the palace! First I'll take you to the big hall; it has lots of pictures on the walls of heroes and their adventures! There's one of Theseus fighting the Minotaur, and one of the harpies attacking the _Argo,_ and a really scary one of Herakles fighting the hydra; he's just cut off one of it's heads but it's growing back …" Pausing for breath, he thrust out his hand to Amyntor's son. Amyntor saw Hephaestion hesitate. Perhaps he had begun to have suspicions about a boy called Alexander who seemed to have free run of the palace. Perhaps he just didn't want to admit that playing ball with another boy was more fun than his books after all. Studiously avoiding his father's gaze, Hephaestion took Alexander's hand and allowed himself to be led up the palace steps.

6/5/06

**

* * *

POINTLESS AFTERWORD: All right, don't skim ahead and read this, you have been warned. The scene in the courtyard with the red ball and poor snubbed Alexander just wouldn't leave me alone and I had to go back and make it all better. Underneath my flippant, ironic exterior I'm obviously a marshmallow. And if you're wondering, "has anyone ever told her she talks too much?" the answer is, just about everyone who has ever met me.**


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